


Every Day Is a Battle

by AnaliseGrey



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (though not all growth is good), Caleb's general issues, Character Study, Episode: c02e062 Domestic Respite, Gen, Personal Growth, Scourgers, Spoilers, caleb's backstory, he's got the spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:26:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: It isn’t that he doesn’t remember.He remembers everything, to an extent. He can’t forget, but that doesn’t mean that everything is always at the forefront of his mind. That would be a sure way to go mad.Again.There are things he knows, things he’s aware of, but because it’s not at the top of his mind, he may notrealizeit until something triggers the memory. He’s always thought of it like riffling through an endless library catalog, drawers and drawers of moments, of thoughts, of recollections, waiting for him to need them or be stumbled upon by accident.So when Jester is relaying what she’s seen, what she’s heard, it doesn’t immediately register.





	Every Day Is a Battle

It isn’t that he doesn’t remember.

He remembers everything, to an extent. He can’t forget, but that doesn’t mean that everything is always at the forefront of his mind. That would be a sure way to go mad.

Again.

There are things he knows, things he’s aware of, but because it’s not at the top of his mind, he may not _realize_ it until something triggers the memory. He’s always thought of it like riffling through an endless library catalog, drawers and drawers of moments, of thoughts, of recollections, waiting for him to need them or be stumbled upon by accident.

So when Jester is relaying what she’s seen, what she’s heard, it doesn’t immediately register.

It isn’t until Beau speaks up, a furrow of worry between her brows, that something in the depths of his memory starts to shake loose, dust drifting off amidst the stacks and stacks of information he has stored in his head.

“ _People who are shadows and stories. I honestly wasn’t sure if they were real or not-_ ”

Scourgers.

Given the proper context, he feels the piece of information in his head slide into place in the current discussion.

Scourgers- the secret assassins of the Empire, beholden to the crown. They do the dirty work, the things nobody else can or will. They are shadows, ghosts- if you see one it is only because they have _let_ you, and it is already too late.

He _knows_ this, knows it's true without a hint of doubt.

He knows, because that is what he was to become.

He’d been more familiar with the term _vollstrecker_ \- executor, enforcer, the final word in the message the king wanted sent. That’s what they’d been training them to be, what _Trent_ had been training them to be.

What Astrid and Eodwulf _are_.

Because he is certain, as certain as he can be of anything, that where he broke, where he failed, they did not. They passed Trent’s test with flying colors, and there is no reason to believe that they have been anything other than ruthlessly successful in the intervening time.

The tension and worry are a constant buzz under his skin, and this only escalates it, the unease flaring to life. He’s always assumed that when they come for him, as he knows they inevitably will, that it will be _just_ him they come for; the others might be collateral damage, but he’s always assumed he’ll be the main target.

Things are much more complicated now. As he’s said to Beau, one of the issues with letting people in is that you start to care, you form attachments. He knows they can be a strength, but attachments are still a potential weakness; they make you vulnerable, exposed, easy to get to, and if it were just him, if it were _only_ him, he’d cut and run. He’s let himself get in too deep, too mired in attachments, and he can hear Ikithon laughing at his folly from the back of his mind where the man’s spectre lives.

Jester and Nott sent a letter to Astrid.

Astrid, who for all intents and purposes should not _exist_ , should not have any further ties to the world. Should not have anyone sending her letters about a relation looking for her.

They can tell he’s upset, can tell he’s worried, scared, and while they understand there’s a threat, he knows they don’t understand the full weight of that threat, and how could they?

They’ve never seen Astrid at work, her eyes cold and steely, lips quirked up in a smile. He remembers doing what Trent wanted, learning his lessons alongside Astrid and Eodwulf, but it had been _work_ , a job, doing what was necessary in order to keep the Empire strong, to keep it safe. He did what he had to, what was expected of him, for the greater good, or so he thought.

Astrid, on the other hand, _enjoyed_ what they did. She’d been more than willing, a holy terror all on her own, the only one Trent had to reign in, to pull back. Trent never had to tell Astrid she was too soft, or to go harder. Caleb should have known, should have seen it, but he didn’t. He was blind to so many things back then, in regards to Astrid- blind to the darkness within her, to the iciness of her soul, the lack of light in her eyes. He’d been blinded by love, or at least an infatuation he mistook for it. He’d been drunk with it, drunk with power, and so hadn’t seen, hadn’t _wanted_ to see. He’d seen only her, the tilt of her head, the elegant arch of her brow, the delicate way she’d twist her lips and her knife. He can’t help but look back on it with an edge of disgust; with his remembrances sharpened by the keen lens of perspective, it’s impossible to miss.

The conversation continues around him, and he finds himself tipping over an edge of sorts. He’s hidden so long, done his best to remain out of sight, away from those who knew him, invisible to those who might hunt him down and stop him before he can accomplish his work, that the decision to stop hiding comes as something of a relief. He’s been working towards it little by little- leaving his arm wraps off, cleaning his face more- letting himself slowly acclimate, get more comfortable, but now, now knowing about the letter, and with the likelihood of an Empire spy at court-

Well.

He’s always counted himself a coward, has never been shy about saying so. He doesn’t particularly think ceasing to hide changes that; there’s a difference between bravery and inevitability. It’s a waste of effort to hide now. It’s better to focus on doing what he can, advancing as much as possible, learning as much as he can as quickly as he can in the hopes that when the time comes- not if, but _when-_ it will be enough.

That it will keep the others safe, that he’ll be able to draw attention quickly enough and for long enough that the others can run.

Gods, he hopes they’ll have the sense to run.

However, if he’s learned anything in his time with the Nein, it’s that there’s a streak of stubbornness a mile wide among them, and a fierce loyalty that he’s still learning to accept, even if he doesn’t fully understand it. As much as he wants them to run, he’s doesn’t think they will. Beau’s as much as promised to fight for him, to not let him stand alone, and he can’t imagine the others would do any less.

If he’s honest- and he tries to be, if only with himself- he’s glad. The group has grown on him substantially since he first met them all, almost like one of Mr. Clay’s fungi, certainly far more than he ever intended to allow. He cares for them all, cares _deeply_ , and knows he’d do almost anything to keep them safe, keep them away from Ikithon’s influence and reach.

But he’s _scared_.

He’s never been so terrified in his life; the prospect of having to come face-to-face with either of his former friends, with _Trent_ , fills him with dread such that it’s difficult to breathe past it, hard to pull air into his lungs. It feels like drowning, but he knows his friends won’t let that happen. All he has to do is say the word and they’ll be with him, at his side to help with whatever he needs, whatever sort of support he requires. It’s daunting, terrifying in it’s own right, trying to live up to that sort of kindness, trying to be worthy of that level of support and trust when he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Won’t _ever_ deserve it.

That doesn’t make him any less grateful for it, or less likely to grab onto it with both hands.

He’ll prepare the best he can. He’ll pull himself together and learn, absorbing as much knowledge as he can, as quickly as he can. He’ll do his best to keep everyone else safe- from the scourgers, from Trent-

-from _himself,_ if necessary.

He’ll do what needs to be done to see his goals met.

He will keep his new family safe, whatever the cost.

Whatever it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Kai Masa's 'battlefield':
> 
> "every day is  
> a battle against  
> monsters only i  
> can see"
> 
> Want to ask a question, yell about these guys, or just say hi? Come find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/) or on twitter at the same handle.


End file.
